I thought I would be able to *at least* get through my workday without having a complete breakdown about how much I miss you. I mean, I obviously have missed you every second of every day that you have been gone. Not one second has passed that I haven’t missed you.
But how has it been 6 months since I have seen your face? Since I have heard your voice? Felt the warmth of your skin in a big hug? Heard that amazing laugh?
And how does 6 months seem like it has both flown by but yet also feel like it has been so long. It feels like it was just yesterday that I pulled out of the driveway and waved goodbye to you as I left for work that morning. It feels like just yesterday that I was given that horrible news. That I had to tell your dad and Tina. And had to tell Rory. And tell your brother. Fuck. It still stabs me in the heart to think about it. But it is so strange how it can feel like yesterday but also feel like it was so long ago. I don’t understand how that works. It fucks with my brain.
I was doing okay (mostly) today while at work. Just trying to keep busy…and since the day was oddly chaotic, it helped keep my mind busy. But then I saw my memories on Facebook in a brief downtime moment. And I felt my breath catch. And I felt the tears start to come. And I had to step away from patients because a complete breakdown was starting. I saw a photo from 8 years ago when I was picking you up after you’d spent 2 straight weeks with your dad. Carter had missed you so much that he just needed a hug so you went to the backseat and gave him a huge hug before getting in the car so we could go home.
There was no way that I was going to see that photo of you and Carter…on today of all fucking days…and not break down. He loves you so much. And I know how much you loved him. Love him. Wherever you are now. We still feel you around us. All of us do. There is way too much for it to be a coincidence so please know that we feel it. We love feeling you around. Like I literally just NOW heard a door close in the hallway. Clear as anything. A door being closed. Called to Carter to ask what he was doing…he is in the living room. I heard his voice from there. He didn’t close a door in the hallway. I was pretty sure it wasn’t him anyway because I didn’t hear his footsteps or any sound other than the door.
I still haven’t figured out how to live without you here. I am able to get through my days. We are still getting things ready to move. I think you’d have liked this new house and you’re welcome to come “haunt” it once we move…just let me sleep at night, okay?
Jokes aside. I really don’t know how to live without you. 6 months have passed but I still feel broken. I think that maybe I am now just used to the numbness? Or used to the pain? Is it pain or is it numbness? Or is it some weird combination of the two that makes it difficult to know which it is? Or maybe it’s like when you get that pins/needles feeling that starts as pain and then turns to a bizarre numbness? I don’t fucking know.
It still both pisses me off and breaks my heart to think of you losing your chance at having a life. You’d barely reached adulthood. You’d finally started to face your traumas. You’d found your love. You’d rebuilt relationships with family. You’d started to build adult relationships with siblings as opposed to the childhood ones you’d had previously. You were building a promising career. You’d found a passion for riding and rebuilding your truck, even though the damn thing is actually more work than you’d realized. The mechanic working on it for me now said that you did a great job with the radiator and water pump but yeah…we’ve found more that explains why the check engine light kept turning back on every time you and I each got it to turn off. But I am going to do this. For you. I will get this truck legal. Once I get it passing emissions, I can’t promise I won’t cry because I know how hard you worked to get that done and I now know how close you were to getting it there. I just wish it were you doing this, even though I know you wouldn’t have had the funds to do the needed repairs we found. You’d have figured it out though. You always did. You were just as stubborn as your dad. And I guess me too. I’m just gonna pretend that the stubbornness only came from your dad because he’s not sitting here next to me right now to say “Hey…you know you’re incredibly stubborn too, right?”.
I am not okay. I am not okay with you not being here. I am not okay that you were taken from all of us. I am not okay with knowing that you felt pain, even if it was probably only for seconds. I am not okay with knowing that you felt fear, even if it was probably only for seconds.
My job as a mother is to protect my children. I have always fought with everything I have to make sure my boys are happy and safe and healthy. Yes, I have made mistakes but I have picked up and done my best. For you and your brother. And knowing that I couldn’t keep you safe makes me feel like a failure, even though I know that it is a ridiculously illogical thought process. I know we can’t protect our kids forever. I know I couldn’t wrap you in bubble wrap and never let you leave the house. You craved independence. And you were *mostly* responsible.
I am sure the feelings of being a failure for not being able to protect you are just my mind wishing I could change the past. I hate that I can’t. I sometimes don’t even have words other than saying how much I hate it. I just feel…broken.
I know I told you that I loved you every day. If not multiple times per day. But I hope that you truly FELT it. I hope you knew how proud I was of you.
I hope that the last thoughts that went through your mind before it all went to black were how much I love you. I hope you felt wrapped in that love as it all faded away.
Grief is a B!tch 